


Mercenaries Don't Have Friends

by FrankieAlton



Category: Captain Planet and the Planeteers
Genre: Backstory, Character Development, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankieAlton/pseuds/FrankieAlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Argos Bleak enjoys being employed as a mercenary by Looten Plunder, even if it means getting into crazy and dangerous situations. He even likes his boss, though he'd never willingly admit it. NOT slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercenaries Don't Have Friends

"You can't be serious…"

Argos Bleak had never led a normal, boring life by any means, nor did he really care to, but he really could not believe everything he had just heard. The man sitting across the table from him now had to be insane.

He certainly looked insane. He was dressed in a ridiculous blue suit, trimmed with what was most definitely real tiger fur. Considering that poaching tigers was highly illegal, Bleak would think that the man would not want to go around flaunting evidence of his criminal activities like that. Of course, he could claim that it was imitation, but Bleak had been in the poaching business long enough to identify the real thing when he saw it.

Also… what in the hell kind of a name was Looten Plunder?

Bleak realized his own name was rather unusual, but at least it was still a legitimate name. His father's bizarre fascination with Greek mythology had been somewhat unfortunate for him but at least his name was only archaic, not nonsensical.

However, despite the fact that this man was most likely insane, Bleak rather liked him. He sincerely hoped that this eccentric businessman's offer was legitimate.

"I am completely serious," Plunder replied smoothly. "So what's your answer?"

<><><>

Bleak thought about how he ended up meeting with this strange American in a café in Gaborone, Botswana. A few years ago Bleak had enjoyed a successful, respectable career as a Specials Ops member of his country's military. At that point in time he had no plan to do anything else with his life. He loved his job, the excitement and thrill it provided suited him quite well.

But then he had screwed it up, or at least that's what his government would have people think. He was only following orders. Unfortunately a few "innocent bystanders" got in the way and his military dismissed him, rather than risk an international incident.

He had returned home to his mother's country, Australia, for a while following his dismissal. Initially he had given into a sort of depression, living off of what he had in savings and spending most of his time drinking. He could not let go of what had happened to him. It seemed so unjust. He was only doing what he thought was expected of him and his government had treated him like he was some sort of a criminal.

It seemed ironic now, he thought bitterly. _Now_ he was a criminal. Perhaps that's what he was meant to be…

Eventually he managed to sober up, when he realized his money was running out and he needed to do something before he ended up on the streets. He decided he could not stay in Australia anymore. He could sense what a disappointment he was to his family. His mother fretted over him constantly and his father took every opportunity to remind him of how much of a failure he was. Nearly six months after his unwanted early discharge, Bleak relocated to Johannesburg in South Africa, his father's home country. He had citizenship there as well Australia, so it was no problem for him to move. Blending in and remaining inconspicuous would be easy too.

He barely had any money to his name by the time he made it to South Africa. He survived by managing to find enough random jobs to keep him from being entirely destitute. However his life was not great by any means. He lived in what basically amounted to a slum. He kept to himself, doing what he had to do to survive.

Through someone that he would have considered a friend in the vaguest sense of the word, Bleak was introduced to a native South African named Bello, who worked for various poaching rings operating in South Africa and neighboring countries such as Botswana. Initially Bleak had been rather reluctant to become involved in such activities. It had never been his intention to become a criminal. If he hadn't been dismissed from his position with the military he would still have a legitimate career.

However in time he realized, with some level of bitterness, that his chances for having a legitimate career were over. Poaching was at least fun in a way. Fun for someone like him who liked danger. Bleak knew he could never be happy just working some boring job in a factory or some other sort of tedious, mundane career. So if the only way to fulfill his need for excitement was by engaging in illegal activities, then so be it. He had no reason to care anymore.

His life had managed to improve somewhat after Bello introduced him to the world of poaching. Financially, at least, he was much better off. He managed to move to a decent part of the city. The people he worked for quickly realized that he was far more skilled than the typical newcomer to this profession. Bleak was always evasive when answering questions, but it was clear to the leaders of most of the poaching rings that he was someone who had extensive military training.

So Bleak adjusted to that lifestyle, eventually managing to even embrace it. It seemed that things were going his way until someone on his team panicked and he ended up in jail, along with Bello and several other poachers.

Bleak had figured his life was basically over then. He would spend the rest of his life in prison. And not some halfway decent prison in the UK or the US, either. A filthy, violent prison in the sweltering heat of southern Africa. Even if he somehow got out for this crime, it was only a matter of time before he found his way back. It seemed that the situation was hopeless but then something completely unexpected happened.

Someone got him out.

This person did not just pay bail. He managed to get all of the charges against Bleak completely erased. Not just dismissed, but any record related to him, no matter how obliquely, was completely destroyed. Obviously this was a person who possessed quite a great deal of wealth and power. Bleak wondered what a man like that would possibly want from someone like himself.

This man had asked to meet with him at a seedy café in the bad part of town. Bleak knew the place well. It was a common hangout for poachers, and he had managed to pick up quite a few jobs there.

He waited there now, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. He ordered a beer and finished it off much more quickly than usual. He ordered another and tried to pace himself on this one.

A sudden murmur among the crowd caused Bleak to look up from his beer. A man walked in who looked entirely out of place among the scruffy men assembled in the dive. He was dressed in a garish, though most likely expensive, custom made suit. In his left hand was an ornately carved walking stick with an ivory top. He was flanked by a bodyguard on either side as he walked into the room. This had to be Mr. Plunder, the man who had arranged this meeting.

Plunder took a seat at Bleak's table and the bodyguards sat at another table, far enough away not to hear their conversation but close enough to keep an eye on what was happening.

"Hello, Mr. Bleak," the man said courteously. "I'm Looten Plunder."

"I gathered that," Bleak muttered. He swallowed the last swig of his beer. "You make quite an entrance."

Plunder chuckled. "I've been told I have quite a sense of style."

Bleak nodded but did not respond. That was certainly an understatement. As he was considering what to say the waiter came by their table. He ordered another beer but Plunder did not order anything for himself. Bleak was certain they did not serve the sort of highbrow drinks this man was accustomed to here.

"So I am certain you are curious as to why I invited you here," Plunder said smugly.

Bleak shrugged. "Sure. Whatever," he replied nonchalantly. He noticed that Plunder's expression seemed to darken a little at his unenthusiastic response.

The waiter returned with Bleak's third beer. He took a big swig of it and stared at Plunder, waiting for whatever sort of bizarre proposal the man had in store. "Well you gonna fill me in, or what?" Bleak demanded rather impatiently. He tended to be rather straightforward himself; he had no patience for playing games.

"I'd like to talk to you about what you do for a living," Plunder said, looking slightly annoyed with Bleak's seeming disinterest in this conversation.

"I don't do anything for a living," Bleak answered plainly, trying his best to keep a neutral expression. He wondered what this man's angle was, or if he was perhaps some sort of government agent out to pry him for information.

"Is that so?" Plunder asked.

"Yeah," Bleak muttered. "Why are you so concerned with what I do with myself?"

"I've been doing my homework, Mr. Bleak. You're not just some hapless moron who couldn't get a better job somewhere else. You served with the Australian Defense Force for six years. Special Ops. That's not something that just anybody gets to do."

Bleak laughed bitterly. He took a drag from his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, studying this strange American businessman. "Well it's not something I get to do either. Not anymore."

Plunder smiled wryly. "No?"

"Cut the crap. If you've done your homework, then you know what happened." Bleak was in no mood to discuss this.

"Right." Plunder said. "That's the problem with working for the government. They're so worried about things like collateral damage and unnecessary force…"

Bleak raised an eyebrow. "And you're not?"

Plunder shrugged. "I'm more concerned with getting the job done. And you seem like the sort of man who gets the job done."

"Do I?" He was not going to give up any information about himself that easily. If this man had checked him out that thoroughly then he could prove it.

"You did what you had to do in that village in Iran. Who cares if a few random villagers got in the way? You got the information you needed. And the U.S. mission your unit was assisting was wildly successful, though apparently not grateful."

Bleak narrowed his eyes. This man really had done his research. Everything related to that mission was highly classified; he must have some powerful people on his team to get to that sort of information. He wondered what he wanted. Was this some sort of attempt at blackmail? If so, it was not a great plan. Bleak doubted that his reputation could be any more tarnished than it already was, and it was not as if he had any wealth to come after.

"So what do you want with me?" Bleak snarled. He was not willing to trust this man, no matter how amicable he may seem.

"I want to offer you a job."

"A job? This was a lot of effort to go through just to offer me a job."

Plunder smiled confidently and leaned back in his chair. "Well, this is more than just a simple job. I'm looking for someone interested in a career."

Bleak laughed. "A career? What do you mean? Like with health insurance and a pension plan?"

"Well sure, if you'd like," Plunder replied amusedly.

"What I'd like is to know what in the hell you want from me," Bleak snapped, refusing to be taken in by this man's charm. Even though Plunder seemed like someone he would like, Bleak had no intention of letting the other man know that. He was going to act defensive and aloof until he found out what Plunder's angle was.

Plunder leaned forward, resting his arms and the table and clasping his hands together. "Okay," he said seriously. "I'll tell you what I want with you. I would like to hire you as Head of Security for my corporation. Though on paper the position will appear very straightforward, in reality it will be far more… complicated…"

"Really?" Bleak asked, trying to sound disinterested though he was in fact quite curious.

"I need someone with your very unique skill set. And I need someone who is willing to do things that other people might find distasteful. As your recent employment indicates, you are someone who is comfortable operating outside of the confines of the law. And of course, if you decide to take this offer, you would be compensated quite well for your work."

"Would I?" Bleak said dryly. He finished off his last sip of beer and stared at the American incredulously.

Plunder grinned as he pulled a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. "I think this amount would be more than adequate compensation for the work that I am asking you to do," he said, as he slid the paper toward Bleak.

He unfolded the paper slowly and read the figure inside. It was large, much larger than he had expected. He stared in shock, mouth slightly agape, before looking up at Plunder. "You can't be serious..." The look on the other man's face told Bleak that he was indeed serious, and that he was already sure what Bleak's answer would be.


End file.
